the followers
Yeah, what’s it all for? Trust in no man, but give it up to my Lord
Am I influencing type wars from maricons?
There’s levels to this fellowship, you stuck on the same board
Truly provoking, shining new light through my songs
Get women open, I should moonlight designing doors
Oh that’s swag, call me trash, who y'all’s source?
Cause y’all sheep, the way I see it you’re all lost
Look what I encompass while you lacking direction
I would be the guy, Mike, twas a looking fly Olympics
Anyone, Jordan, Johnson, Phelp shit
I can off-hand, hit you writin' strong hand hits
In the zone little nigga doing small bong rips
And my broad doing things only saw on flicks
Aww shit, I’m the man, ho
Dunk Lows, only those CO Japan, ho
Money fold, women close got me paranoid
My only fear, to lose y'all ear at wedding ceremonies
Either way they should be voided
Follow me, follow me or forget me, follow me (x3)
Follow me, follow me or forgive me, ‘cause y’all about to see
(The point is I intend to undertake this. And I'll do it with or without you. So if you're scared, if you haven't got the stomach for this, let's get it out right now! And I'll go on my own. If not, you can get on board and we can get to work! Now what's it going to be?)
But nigga is you crazy? They say I lost a step
Like the second wedding ring bearer somewhere in the orphanage is, and could you blame me?
But the anger I express, providing messages, it’s now apparent you forced the kid
And you hate me, but you too lazy to decipher what I’m writin' and I say to vent
“Oh, I never fall off I get my Beal, John Wall on”
Bills fill up that Goyard, your bitch nickname is hold on
So called my jump off, she so far my call log
Y'all speak like y'all pack heat, y'all street fight like Balrog
En garde, en garde, yeah, touche
Life’s lemon, so while I'm in it, I'm making Kool-Aid
Hold your bread, it’s not what you getting, but what you save
Hold your head like in a blizzard rockin’ a toupe
Move, Folarin probably coming through
Camera roll like Pornhub, closet look like Karmaloop
Oh Folarin probably letting off, inbox like model calls
Closet look like Bergdorf, checks ain’t near stop
But I never fall to what rich niggas care about
Birds in my parent’s house, shot, fuck malaria
Back to the spot I still rock the rarest apparel, yah